#finding god

the funeral is quiet. snow drifts sideways like a slow, suffocating curtain being drawn over the world. aki hayakawa’s name isn’t whispered. just etched in stone, like he hadn’t spent his whole life carrying the weight of people who didn’t deserve him.

you don’t cry.

you stand beside the headstone, black coat tugged shut at the collar, eyes as dull as the slate sky. he was the only thing that made getting up in the morning tolerable, and now he’s gone.

of course he is.

you were eleven when the devil came. your parents died screaming in your arms, and the devil laughed like it was all a joke. you didn’t scream. didn’t cry. you stared at the gore and the broken walls and knew what the world was made of.

you moved through the rest of your life like a ghost. people told you to focus, to try, to look on the bright side. they didn’t get it. there wasn’t one. you got good at pretending you were human. passed your classes. joined public safety. watched people die. none of it meant anything.

and then there was him.

hayakawa.

“why do you keep staring at me like that?” he asked the first week.

“i’m trying to figure out if you’re dead inside or if that’s just your resting bitch face,” you said, flat.

he raised an eyebrow. didn’t answer. most people didn’t know what to do with the way you talked. he didn’t try to fix you. that was new.

“you’re annoying,” he’d say, flicking his lighter open, dragging slow.

“so are your lungs.”

“you’re not even funny.”

“i don’t need to be. i’m already hot.”

he chuckled once. that was enough.

you noticed him more after that. not in a movie kind of way. more like a body crawling toward warmth it didn’t understand. aki didn’t talk big. didn’t make promises. his love was quiet. a cigarette offered during stakeouts. a silence that didn’t ask you to be anything else. standing in front of you even when you were the one who could take a hit.

you asked him one night, sitting on some shitty motel bed in some shitty town, “why do you keep going?”

he didn’t look surprised. just tired. “because i want a future where people can live without looking over their shoulder every five seconds.”

you scoffed. “and when you burn out doing that for everyone else?”

“then i’ll rest.”

you didn’t believe in anything. not people, not hope, not next week.

but he made you want to try.

you found god on a rooftop after a devil turned a family of four into pulp. no big moment. no tears. you looked up and muttered, “if there’s anything up there… i’m tired.”

no answer. didn’t expect one.

aki found your bible once, cracked and scribbled on.

“you? religion?”

you sprawled across the couch. “yeah. figured if someone’s gonna save my ass, it’s not me.”

he didn’t laugh. didn’t mock you. just nodded. “good.”

you blinked. “that’s it? no ‘what happened to your dark humor’ speech?”

he gave a rare smile. “maybe i like you better this way.”

you remember everything he said.

“protect denji and power. even if it gets messy.”

“don’t look back. it’ll rot you alive.”

“love isn’t weakness.”

you watched him die. or turn into whatever that thing was. you didn’t cry.

you killed it.

you buried him.

you went home.

sometimes you see him in your dreams. he’s in the kitchen making coffee like nothing happened.

“you look like hell,” he says.

you lean on the doorframe. “you’re dead. what’s your excuse?”

he smirks. you don’t wake up screaming. you wake up empty.

you get up at 4:17 a.m. every day. the silence is loud. the bed is too big. you sit on the floor with your back against the wall and whisper a prayer. not for anything. just to remember who you promised you’d try to be.

“i’m here,” you say. “not sure why. but i’m here.”

you breathe.

you stand.

you live, not because it makes sense, not because it feels good, but because he wanted to.